


My Blood Approves

by juniperwick



Series: Secretary [2]
Category: Magician RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Dom/sub, M/M, Morning After
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-18
Updated: 2012-06-18
Packaged: 2017-11-08 00:26:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/437092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juniperwick/pseuds/juniperwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Secretary. Sort of. Welcome to the morning after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Blood Approves

Richard found himself awake without remembering the actual act of waking. At some point, he simply became aware that he was lying face down, half-smothered, in bed (in _a_ bed; not his); naked, with a chill raising goosebumps all over his body. 

_Shiver._ Slowly, carefully, he recalled the formalities of checking his limbs, the way he was taught to do after a crash. Feet, fine. Toes very cold. He wiggled them: they were fine too. Ankles – he rotated each in turn – also all right. Calves, too, and thighs; though his muscles snarled and throbbed, hot and tense, when he tightened them. His forehead creased against his will, eyes screwing shut, and he couldn’t stop the tiniest whimper escaping through his teeth into the mattress.

Fingers? Fine, but... Oh.

Richard’s arms were stretched up, over the pillows. He raised his head, tremulous on his neck’s tired muscles, and opened one eye onto a dusty, soft kind of darkness. The blinds were drawn. White slivers of light fell onto the floorboards: the only pure thing in the room. When Richard tried to tug his hands back to his chest, metal edges cut into his wrists, and something rattled against the iron slats of the bedframe.

Uh oh.

He looked up. Handcuffs. Their edges gleamed in the trickle of light, blunt. He let his head fall back, face first, onto the bed, and he squirmed – thighs tense and painful, their soft insides sticky against each other – so that his knees bent and his legs were kneeling under him. Then he sat up as far as he could, and wriggled up the bed into a better position.

Richard ached. His legs ached. His spine ached. His palms, for some obscure reason. His wrists. Being perfectly bloody honest, his arse.

He smiled. He couldn’t help it. The smile crept onto his face irresistably, tugging the corners of his mouth up. It was no use trying to stop it. Deliberately, Richard shifted his weight from leg to leg, feeling the burn jab all the way up through his body, and his smile widened.

“Ah.” From behind him, a voice.

Richard jumped, and craned his neck around to try to see, even though he knew already. The crispness in the word straightened his spine, pulled his chin up.

Derren crossed the room, letting the door swing shut behind him with a sigh. He was dressed only in dark trousers and a shirt, a waistcoat slung on, unbuttoned. As he approached the edge of the bed, Richard caught a hint of musk, thick and familiar. Richard himself smelt of sweat and sex and, beneath all this, Derren as well. 

Derren reached out a hand – still sleekly gloved – and stroked over the jut of Richard’s shoulderblade and a little way down his spine. “I thought you might be awake.” There was a small upward curve at the edges of Derren’s mouth that made Richard’s heart lift, even as Derren’s touch shivered over his skin, down his body. “You did well,” Derren said, sliding closer on one knee over the sheets. His hand flattened at the small of Richard’s back; one of his knees touched one of Richard’s. He looked at Richard from half-lidded eyes, “for your first time.” Only a murmur now.

When Derren kissed him, Richard closed his eyes and shifted again on his aching legs. The jolt of muscle pain sent a pulse of blood through him; past the heat of Derren’s lips on his, slow and lingering; Derren’s fingers at his chin, holding him in place. Richard forgot himself briefly, and pulled against the handcuffs. The chain clattered against the bedframe.

Derren’s hand tightened on his chin; and he pulled away, one sticky thread connecting their lips before breaking. “Careful.” Derren remained impassive, breath warm and quick on Richard’s skin. The clue wasn’t in his face or his voice; it was in the thrumming tension of his muscles against Richard’s skin, the brimming threat of ... something. (Something that went deeper than Derren’s gentle everyday self, something more hinted at by his crumbling flat full of dead animals and weird paintings. Something Richard could barely begin to understand. Yet still, it sent his heart beating triple time.)

Richard bit the inside of his lip, hard, to remind himself of where he was. When Derren kissed him again, hot and soft, Richard tasted his own blood salty and slippery on both their lips; and felt Derren smile against him. Richard found himself smiling in return.


End file.
